it was not quite like a rot.
it felt just as slow, however. you knew the early signs should have been there since some time ago, yet you missed them and ignored them. it was also similar in the way that it was similar to dying.
but, it really was different.
when you saw a rot, it felt unpleasant. it could be sadness, it might be disgust. in this tale, you didn't exactly feel like that. when you realized it, you barely felt recognition for it.
when you realized you fell out of love with him, you merely stared emptily at the photo in front of you.
it felt cruel. because somewhere inside you, you still believed that he deserved a gentle, tender moment in his life after everything. you still wish that he would know a kindness that he understood enough to soothe every bitter unhappiness that was left inside there. because he, you know more than anyone, had tried his best to be gentle, to be good for you.
you knew it in the way he etched your name on his tongue, in the way he had softened many rough parts of him just to see you smile, and yet—
as the clouds continued to move, unveiling the blue sky, you knew that your time as "his" had come to an end. that day was peaceful. the sky and the world continued to move.
the night came and you decided to put an end to a story. seven hundred and fifty two days had passed, calmly and almost coldly, you offered him a quiet smile.
"hey, can we talk for bit?"
SAE, RIN, BAROU, reo, kaiser, WANDERER, DILUC, LEONA, azul, RIDDLE, malleus, IDIA, ruggie + your faves.
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Yet another thing I didn't expect from crochet: I have stitch markers in my car, my bed, they are even being run through the washing machine because I didn't see them while loading my laundry. I think I'll drown in them
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sometimes i think about the older girl who i sometimes sat next to on the bus to school (i was ten, she was seventeen, i wasn't intimidated because i recognised her as a fellow Weird Person) who not only introduced me to the concept of fanfiction but also gave me my first copy of good omens, which i still own sixteen years later, and which is - true to the stereotype - basically just a bundle of loose pages held together with tape. nobody has had as much influence on my life as her. hope she's doing ok these days
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